Flight from Geonosis
by Vinders
Summary: Obi-Wan wasn't the first Jedi to discover the Separatists on Geonosis. Knight Sarin never made it back to inform the Council of her encounters. Between renegade Jedi, traitorous bugs, Separatist spies, and mad idealists, Sarin tours the galaxy.
1. Crashing Geonosis

Just a few things first: This story began May 2008 and borrows from video-games and movies. It is set during the Clone Wars (and began before I'd even heard of the cartoon). Original characters thus far include: Sarin Silvern - picture Zooey Deschanel, and Sage - picture a rugged Christian Bale.

This is a fraction of a style that tickles my fancy - trashy, sci-fi, action, fantasy, drama, and humour, all in an eclectic and no doubt lopsided mix. Thus I write informally, for enjoyment, with a grain of salt, for amusement, and not for candid, straight-backed crtiticism. And I'm done with comments for a long time. I hate comments, actually. Go figure.

* * *

1. Crashing Geonosis

Sarin couldn't remember landing her starspeeder on Geonosis, but she must have crashed pretty hard for the swarm of natives she attracted. Perhaps it had been the asteroid field, which she had cleared of a few small rocks on her way down, hampering her engines from a smoother landing. Denting a few asteroids could do that. The natives did swarm her and lug her out of the wreckage, for which she was at first grateful. Until they whacked her upside the head and she dropped her saber into the ruined ship, her consciousness floating with it. She recalled being dragged into some facility, through darkened corridors and some whirring machine rooms and finally deposited into a cell. By that time her head had stopped spinning and had decided to abandon all gravitational pull. She heaved and threw up all over one of the bugs before they'd activated a force cage. Some time must have passed in cleaning the thing up, because when Sarin next woke up a couple bugs were trying to communicate.

The force cage flickered, charring her boots. The three insectoid creatures before her continued their interrogation, but their clicking was unintelligible to their prisoner. In frustration, one of the creatures began to jam the controls of the cage with its claws. Clumsy, random jabs translated to precise and purposeful patterns. Sarin worried a moment the creature would accidentally kill her by imploding the cage, but the next moment a jolt of electricity coursed through her body and she wilted, vision edged with buzzing darkness. The bugs seemed to be arguing from far away. Another current ripped through her, wrenching a scream.

_Click, clickety click_… The _clicks_ were fading. Sarin's throat had gone hoarse. The duracrete floor felt remarkably cool. She drifted.

When Sarin came to again, she was no longer in a force cage. The three bugs were gone, and she was sprawled on the steel floor of a vast chamber. Her boots, to her relief, had not been removed, and she was still in full, albeit unrecognizably muddy and tattered, Jedi garb. The boots contained the last trick she couldn't hide up a sleeve. Her footsteps echoed as she rose and approached a door. The room wavered into focus. Her arms ached dully when she tugged at the disabled motion sensor. Locked.

Click, click…

Sarin jumped. A bug was approaching her. This one had big spidery wings. Backing away slowly, Sarin was surprised to hear it speak what resembled Basic, interwoven with various clicks.

"We regret your _click_ bad reception, we thought _click_ you a Republic spy." The bug's voice was hoarse but intelligible. Dry. "We see _click_ now your sign on the blaster we took – you are representative of Bakta, _click_ yes?"

Thinking fast, Sarin wouldn't look a gift cannok in the mouth. She didn't fancy her face bitten off, anyway. "Baktoid weapons automata sent me here…" she said smoothly, playing up her confusion, "I don't understand why you hurt me…" she fluttered her eyelashes innocently for effect, though perhaps the gesture was lost on the bug.

"Your ship was not _click _registered with Geonosian-_click­-_docking station eight."

"My company presumed you would recognize your supplier," Sarin sniffed, adopting a role. The bug's suspicions had been too true for comfort. "They sent me here to inspect your facilities for any droid malfunction. Upon landing I was ambushed and imprisoned and interrogated. I can assure you the company will be hearing of this." Perhaps her voice had been rising too dramatically. This time the bug was wilting before her and not the opposite. It seemed what passed for hypersensitive ears on the bug's head could not stand higher frequencies. Sarin smiled maliciously.

"We prepare to take full liability," conceded the bug, his accent deepening in fright. "Our client will arrive soon for important gathering of politics and business – you speak to him about expenses then. He meet with Archduke Poggle first. You ready to tour factory sublevels now? I am Eorlax, the translator to Basic. You are?"

"Sarin," she said without thinking, then added, "call me Bronze."

The bug's clicky tongue wouldn't wrap around the name Sarin, anyway. If it possessed a tongue. Sarin didn't care to find out.

"Slernini... Bronze. I gave you kolto while you slept. Take it with our apologies," Eorlax offered Sarin a small, worn-leather shoulder bag, brimming with carefully wrapped packs of kolto. "We begin now, then we can tour cantina for lunch, yes? And meet with our client if he have time."

A Geonosian with a sense of humor? The gods forefend. Sarin injected some kolto, the healing juice invigorating her weary muscles, and followed the bug, lofty that, despite the loss of her starship, she'd acquire some valuable intelligence on the CIS. Thoughts of this mysterious client could wait until she'd sufficient reason not to run out on him. Getting off the planet seemed a good idea after the welcome she'd received, but this opportunity was too good to pass up. Intel on the CIS was hard to come by. Then again, lately, so was a cup of caffa.

The factory was immense. The walkways zoomed them past equally furious assembly lines which seemed to vomit droids. There were mining droids, assembly droids, battle droids… the latter far outnumbered any other. The scale of the order indicated some vast wealth behind the client – Sarin's suspicions of a CIS-funded droid army were evidently confirmed, and she didn't fancy meeting with any CIS operative masquerading as a client to prove her theories.

They were riding through a quieter portion of the factory, a sprawling underground complex Sarin recognized as a power base, Eorlax clicking away about the bugs' brilliance in mechanics and repairs in malfunctioning circuitry.

"So there have been no significant disturbances that would cause the droids to react violently? No triggering any protocols?" Sarin fished, in her best faux-inspector voice.

"No, no problems technically… though we did have a thief try to sneak in… foolish human claimed to be a Jedi, so we stop him from doing real damage, lock him up, ask him some questions," Eorlax clicked on oblivious to Sarin's glare, "He say nothing, so we now wait for client to dispose of him how he wants. Our client gets priority for _click_ spies or thieves."

"I see… so my welcome was not unique. I can see why your tourism is thriving," Sarin commented. "Very well, most things seem to be in order, though I think I could have Baktoid appropriate you some more funds for security. I'll need to see where this thief snuck in, though."

Eorlax perked up at the mention of funds. "Good, good. Now we go lunch in cantina, then I take you to question thief and then the client if he is not busy."

Sarin had never had a bug hit on her before, but she was damned sure Eorlax was cutting it close. After a third cup of caffa ("I don't drink anything stronger on business trips, giggle") and a portion of the muck the factory droids served the few Geonosian maintenance workers, Sarin was fed up with wheedling the bug. With very little coercion, Sarin persuaded Eorlax to let her speak with their prisoner.

"I do need to find out how he got in. A security breach is a serious concern; my company may compensate any presumed losses." Mention of funds never failed to intrigue anyone. Eorlax didn't disappoint. Another high-speed walkway and three factory terminals later, they were at the entrance to what looked suspiciously like a dungeon.

* * *


	2. Sage's Dilemma

2. Sage's Dilemma

The thief was standing in a force cage identical to Sarin's previous accommodations

The thief was standing in a force cage identical to Sarin's previous accommodations. He was not as spry as Sarin had imagined him – indeed, the man looked like he had two decades on her, but perhaps that was due to his prolonged… interrogation. When Sarin entered the cell room trailing Eorlax, those glazed green eyes glinted. A dark scraggly beard was preparing to take residence on his weathered face, and what might in better days have passed for thick and chestnut just looked limp shoulder-length hair. Sarin's eyes were drawn to the ragged army uniform of the self-proclaimed Jedi, which she could glimpse was concealing some sort of armored plating. Curiouser and curiouser.

"This the thief we talk about, says he is a Jedi."

"Thinks he can get a fair trial on a false reputation, does he?" sneered Sarin, convincing herself that was not amusement glinting below the green haze occupying the man's eyes. "Alright Eorlax, I know how to operate this thing. I won't go too hard on him. Let's save me some time – can you bring me an inventory of your latest order. I'll question this fool and stack up your papers soon as you return, then we can both leave."

Eorlax looked between Sarin and the thief. Sarin arched an eyebrow. The Geonosian flicked his wings in indecision, then vested his trust in Sarin, leaving the room. "Big mistake, bug-brain…" Sarin muttered under her breath.

She locked the door behind the bug, then approached the thief.

"You Separatists are losing your touch," the thief said suddenly, "I was so looking forward to meeting the renowned Count Dooku."

His voice was husky but his tone was cold. "Dooku? What do you know of Count Dooku?" asked Sarin. If this thief was no Jedi, then perhaps her best bet was to leave him to Dooku. No. She needed to get out before Dooku arrived, if he was indeed the Geonosians' new client. "What are you doing here? Are you truly a Jedi?" she enquired.

The thief arched an eyebrow. The trick was more effective than when Sarin had employed it. "Perhaps. Why don't you let me out of here and we'll talk?"

Sarin narrowed her eyes. Her experiences on this planet merited suspicion on her part, but the Jedi Code won out. "Give me your word you won't run without me."

"So you aren't CIS. A Republic spy, then?" the thief smiled thinly, sardonically. "I'm Sage. You have my word. Neither of us stands a chance of escaping here alone."

Sarin tapped the controls and the force cage fizzled out. "I'm Sarin Silvern, spy extraordinaire. I was sent here by the Jedi of Coruscant."

Sage stumbled on his way, leaning heavily on the wall. Up close, Sarin could distinguish a faint scar running down his cheekbone. Fresher burns and bruises decorated his skin. "Ah, rescued by a Jedi. It doesn't get much more exhilarating."

Dry humor. Sarin offered him a kolto pack from Eorlax's bag. And discovered something hard beneath the medicine.

"What the..?" Sage looked up, green eyes clearer, as Sarin unearthed a compact hologram slipped into the medicine. Flicking it on, the blue holographic likeness of Eorlax sputtered into being.

"I speak to the Jedi on behalf of the worker caste of the Geonosians. Our economy thrived on your Republic's orders, and some of us remain loyal to the Republic despite the secession of our planet." Sarin stared as Eorlax's nearly flawless basic emerged from the hologram. Her first thought was that she had wasted her acting on him. Her second was to hijack a ship out of the tense politics of the planet, pronto.

"We took the tool of the thief but I now return it to you, Bronze. Tell Jedi of our plight. When Separatist threat is over, tell Jedi to vouch our loyalty in making droids."

The image died. "Here I thought they were barbaric bugs. Fond of their economy, the Geonosians," commented Sage, while Sarin dug in the bag for whatever tool Eorlax had mentioned. She was surprised to withdraw a battered lightsaber hilt.

"This yours? Then you are a Jedi."

"Only Jedi can carry these around?" enquired Sage, "I hear the Sith used them too. Is it unlikely for a merc to pick one up?"

"Unlikely," repeated Sarin, but she handed him the saberstaff. "You're a mercenary? But we'll deal with introductions later. We need to leave before Dooku gets here. I've had enough of politics for today. Take the whole bag of kolto, you need it more." She handed Sage the satchel and the holo.

"I presume you have a ship?"

"Hijacking one will be our first line of business. Mine was rendered somewhat… useless by the asteroids."

Sage looked amused. "Then perhaps I shall navigate the asteroid field on our retreat."

"Right," said Sarin, "The docking bay is across a complex of factories manned only by protocol droids. As long as there are no bugs around, we'll have no problem getting out-" some intuition seemed to awaken in Sarin. Perhaps a fledgling of precognition Master Windu was so passionate she learn. "Someone's coming."

Too late. Eorlax easily bypassed their lock. He wasn't carrying any papers. If the sporadic flicking of his wings was any indication, he was nervous. "Bronze got my message? You must hurry. I tell others you take _click_ inventory. You need ship in dockyard eight. Take thief with you and tell Republic no bombing Geonosis."

"Self-preservation. And here I began to suspect you of altruism."

Sarin considered Sage, then Eorlax. "Don't sound so disappointed. I think I understand now. But why the worker caste, Eorlax?"

"Wingless Geonosians are workers, while my winged brethren are warriors,"

Eorlax explained. "I am a worker because my wings do not support me."

Sarin didn't explore that bitter story. "Alright. Lead on, Eorlax."

They filed out into a corridor, Eorlax buzzing anxiously in front of Sarin, Sage limping behind. They didn't get far. At least a dozen bugs, these with wings, were hovering in ambush once they passed into a walkway. Being a narrow walkway that raced high over vats of molten plasma, sans guardrails, the flightless were at a disadvantage. Amidst the clicking and buzzing, Eorlax translated.

"Tell them we surrender," said Sarin, as the bugs closed in. "We can't fight here."

Eorlax clicked. The bugs buzzed nearer, two of them snatching Eorlax. A couple spoke in halting Basic, punctuated by clicks. "We take the _click_ traitor and the spies to the execution arena."

"We cannot make show now, client _click_ Dooku will arrive soon," argued another.

"Dooku kill them anyway. We present him with their _click _corpses after."

"Execution entertaining," conceded the second bug, emitting a cackle-like buzz. "But quickly. Not public. Not in _click _arena."

During this exchange, the bugs had efficiently led their prisoners through the room and into a domed enclosure. There was a hangar gate at the far end, and several cages around the walls held acklays and nexus. Sarin noted the double-bladed spears and force pikes leaning against a wall. Two bugs to a prisoner held Sarin and Sage, while Eorlax was being dragged by his crippled wings. "We're right off the docking bay through that hangar," Sage hissed at Sarin. Indeed, she could hear a ship landing just beyond the gate.

"We release nexu," clicked two bugs, striding off to a cage. Sarin counted five more restraining them, readying herself to fight, but Sage struck first.

She heard the familiar buzzing of the lightsaber only after Sage's green blade had cleaved his two bugs into four halves in two smooth strokes. The bugs holding her sprung back and grabbed the force pikes.

"Before they release the nexu, if you will!" Sage yelled, swinging at another bug's head and clipping its wings before finishing his third Geonosian. Two more assaulted him armed with force pikes, and he was forced to dodge, rolling up a cloud of orange dust, his advantage spent. Limping up, he resumed combat.

Sarin ran for the nexu cage, tackling one of the bugs before it had time to react. The bug slammed into the wall, cracking its wings, while Sarin cursed its rock-hard exoskeleton. Dimly she heard the hangar door opening, and it occurred to her she should hurry. Sarin dodged the other bug's force pike, which jabbed its fallen comrade instead, and lashed out with her boot, managing to knock the weapon from her attacker. She could hear Sage's lightsaber impacting his combatants' force pikes in flashes of viridian light.

Springing up Sarin grabbed the fallen weapon. It was double-bladed, humming with static energy and sparking purple. Without pausing for even a flourish, she jabbed the hovering Geonosian in the neck, but the bug's bony chestplate absorbed the damage. Ducking under a claw, buffeted backward by a wing, Sarin landed a glancing blow on the bug's other wing, and it fell clicking angrily, snarling. It swiped viciously with its claws, and Sarin ducked again, jabbing the pike with all her might into the exposed armpit.

With a pained buzz, the bug's other arm ripped the force pike from Sarin's grasp and sent her stumbling. As the bug closed in, swinging the weapon expertly, Sarin let out the highest pitched scream she could muster.

The echo in the dome was fantastic. The bug before her dropped the weapon and brought its uninjured arm to clutch its ears in agony. The two bugs fighting Sage also crumpled from the air, and he quickly slashed both. Sarin reclaimed the force pike and pierced the bug's exposed neck, before turning to the last bug she had left for dead next to the nexu's cage. The bug was dead alright. So was Eorlax. The nexu he had released was crunching something bony, wings trailing out of its wide mouth. The feline monster turned all four of its diabolical eyes on Sarin, a smile revealing bits of bug stuck in a field of big, pointy teeth.

--


	3. Out of the Frying Pan

Note: Last one for a while, promise. Be forewarned of satire whenever politics are concerned.

* * *

3. Out of the Frying Pan…

"Embarrassing to be outwitted by bugs," remarked Sage, eyes fixed on the nexu. Someone was approaching from the hangar gate, a cloaked shape Sarin saw out of the corner of her eye, but the nexu was closer. She decided to practice her agility. The Nexu lunged.

Sarin had never moved so quickly before. The monster was fast. Even drawing on the Force, she barely dodged the enormous claws, which slit apart the ground she'd been standing on. The double tail whipped around behind the nexu, whistling, and clipped Sarin. The force pike snapped in two and Sarin was flung back, barely landing on her feet. She hated acrobatics. Sage wolf-whistled.

"Wear it down," he called. The monster turned on him instead, stalking forward. The ferocious spikes on its back quivered before it jumped. Sage launched himself under the beast in a coordinated dive, driving his lightsaber upward. The nexu cleared him and the saber, which only slashed its hind leg. It snarled as it landed, pivoting on its front legs, and jumped at an unprepared Sage.

It never reached him, but diverted course mid-flight, roaring viciously. The broken end of a force pike protruded from one of its eyes. It rounded on Sarin. Sage crippled its other back leg as the other end of the force pike pierced the beast's tongue. It let out another desperate cry, mouth spurting blood. It swiped once more in Sarin's direction, limping, three eyes murderous. Sarin reached into her boot for her last trick, and ignited the slim saberstaff. The shoto, her short offhand lightsaber, flared icy blue, before she ran it into the nexu's gullet. With a last snarl the nexu kicked out and collapsed, tail whipping Sage behind the knees. He fell with a grunt. Sarin flicked off her saber and extended Sage a hand.

"As Obi says, next time I'm crashing a civilized planet," said Sarin, helping Sage up. "Let's get off this rock."

But Sage didn't respond. He was gazing over her shoulder, face set darkly.

"An impressive performance!" said the figure, black cloak flowing dramatically as he strode from the hangar, the dome echoing eerily in his mocking applause. "Though I confess I was not expecting a welcome from two Jedi spies." He paused, meters away from the two. Sage was glaring warily, his saber off but trained on the newcomer, whose eyes were glittering with some unfathomable amusement. Next to the two weary and filthy Jedi, his immaculate attire offset his superior air.

"Count Dooku, I presume?"

Dooku turned his studied gaze to Sarin, smiled courteously. There was still a hint of mocking condescension in his eyes.

In retrospect, Sarin's actions could be considered suicidal. The situation didn't merit overanalyzing; at the moment, her desperation lent her nerve. "We've just ended our business here, so perhaps you _want_ to lend us a ship. We were just leaving." Sage nearly blanched at the audacity.

Dooku's expression had changed rapidly from light bewilderment to deep amusement. "I _want_..?" he chuckled darkly. "I hope I have not offended you, Jedi. It is unfortunate we could not meet under better circumstances, but perhaps I could dissuade you from leaving so soon? There is no need for hostilities."

Sarin's Force-infused suggestion had been rebuffed, and Dooku's natural charisma lent his own Force-powered persuasion a subtlety Sarin did not possess.

"I disagree," said Sage, green lightsaber buzzing to life. Sarin scanned the dome for any other escape route when it occurred to her.

"Put that away, Sage, we're all politicians here. Surely we can negotiate like civilized people?" Sage looked at Sarin in alarm. After a tense silence, frowning, he deactivated his saber. Dooku looked on the exchange with mild interest. "So, Count, the Jedi seem to have conflicting views of you." Sarin strode forward, circling Dooku at a distance. "My Master is of the opinion that you're an independent and misguided idealist, but the rest of the Council maintains that you've fallen. I prefer to reserve judgments until I've heard your own arguments. You have a willing audience." Dooku had turned toward Sarin, leaving Sage standing before the hangar with nothing in his way.

"I am pleased to see the Council's complacency does not extend to all of its members," said Dooku. Sarin's expression told him all he needed. "Ah, but you are not _on_ the Council," he smiled indulgently, "That would explain your capacity for objective thought. You see, until you blind yourself completely to the ethics you yourself preach, you will not ascend in the Council. The bureaucratic mire that the Republic has become has so deeply entrenched the Council that the Jedi now see themselves above morals, above the suffering of the commoners. All that the Republic has stood for, it has destroyed. The conservative council refuses to see that their stubbornness has eroded their very ideals; they have wrought corruption into the very heart of the Senate. How long has your democracy been compromised by you Senate's emergency decrees? How long your rights and freedoms sacrificed? How much longer until your precious Republic becomes a dictatorship?"

Despite herself, Sarin found the idealist's argument compelling. Something in the righteousness of Dooku's words seemed to appeal to her frustration with the Council. Sage wore the same frown, though it had soured and turned more skeptical as the rant progressed. But despite her doubts, Sarin had been busy during Dooku's speech; the pegs holding the locks on the cages of several beasts were now sufficiently loose. Aroused by the bloody nexu's scent, the wearks and acklays were becoming restless.

"You expect too much of the government, I think," said Sarin, desperate to prolong the distraction, and intrigued despite herself. "While your talk of free trade may lure the unions to join your cause, the established leaders will not abandon their cozy positions in the Republic. Even if you start a war, your droid army is no match for the Jedi. Are your ideals worth a war on a galactic scale? Moreover, will a capitalistic revolution not further impede on public freedom?"

Count Dooku smiled. Sarin ignored Sage's confused glare. "Your questions betray your own doubts, Jedi. Speak plainly; are you not disenchanted with the Republic yourself? The time for reform is over, no? The Confederacy is a new beginning, an era of-"

But what, exactly, the era was, Sarin didn't find out. At that moment, with a ferocious screech, an acklay broke through the weakened cage and scuttled in a fury of claws toward the dead nexu. Sarin had positioned herself away from the loose cages, and Dooku stood just between the bloodthirsty acklay and its immobile prey.

Perhaps it was the shock of transitioning from political rhetoric to fight or flight. But Dooku whipped out his lightsaber a moment too late – the acklay toppled straight over him, slicing a nasty welt in his arm with its clawed limbs, then tearing into the nexu.

"Sage, run!" Dooku had been bowled to the ground, and Sarin could feel the brimming hunger of the rest of the beasts. "I'm behind you, now!"

Three more cages clanged open, and several exotic beasts joined the fray, among them another acklay and two nexu who seemed to prefer humans to their own species. Sage was almost at the hangar, heels flashing.

Dooku's saber sang, injuring a nexu and enraging the rest of the menagerie. They lunged at him and Sarin, who was standing closest. She took the cue and sprang back, racing to the hangar. Escape was just through those gates, where she could see a ship docked. Sage was through… just as Sarin began to think she was safe, the heavy metal gates began to close. She put on a burst of speed, preparing to lunge – but then her world tipped sideways. Out of nowhere, a pincer-like claw knocked her clean off her feet, and she flew backwards, rolling to a dusty, bruising stop at a pair of polished boots. Dooku was smiling above her dazed head, uninjured arm raised up and sealing the hangar with the Force. She caught a glimpse of Sage, lightsaber drawn, stumbling back toward her.

"Go!" just as the gates clanged shut, too thick for the saber to penetrate.

Dooku's gloating slipped off his face. Two acklays had swiped at him as he concentrated on the doors, and he chopped off two claws. He didn't see the nexu coming, but Sarin did. It lunged over her head for the Count, claws bared, snarling viciously and baring a multitude of fangs. Instinctually, she whipped her short saber into the nexu's belly as it cleared her, impaling it mid-flight. She didn't account for its corpse falling straight on her, spikes and all. The bulk stunned her before she rolled out from under it, rather worse for wear, smattered in nexu blood. An enticing target for the acklays.

They both sprang at her. Sarin evaded the first, ran into the second, fell over in the slick of blood and dust and thus evaded the first again. Finding her hard prey, they went for Dooku instead. She groaned and rose, sliding, fell again, watching from the ground Dooku's fantastic fencing which was of absolutely no use to him against two enraged acklays. He ducked their blows gracefully until one claw yanked his flowing cloak, throwing him to the ground. The acklays then both attempted to devour the velvet; one snapped his cloak, got tangled, and ripped through snarling. The other rounded on him again as he rose, and he fluidly chopped off its head. The other acklay also dropped. Sarin wondered if the stupid beast had suffocated itself with the cloak.

Dooku approached Sarin again, but this time he eyed her suspiciously. "Is it not considered dirty tactics for a Jedi to sacrifice an _innocent_ animal to save herself?" he asked, "The Geonosians may have to take you into custody – the Confederacy does not condone such violence."

Politics again, was it? Sarin glared from where she was sitting on the mud. "Your little bugs starve these bloodthirsty beasts for entertainment. They adore violence. And once Sage tells Master Windu of your operations here, you can expect the Jedi to investigate. Your veiled threats won't-"

"You think the runaway Jedi you rescued will scurry back to your Council? You believe he has no ulterior motives of his own? The Jedi have their own agenda, which the Senate refuses to see. There is the narrow-minded reasoning of the Republic," Dooku got started, striding closer past the cloak-choked acklay. "They know nothing of these border worlds which they all but enslave…" He was on it again.

"What does that…" but Sarin trailed off, Dooku's voice drowning her out. She stared. The acklay that had collapsed was rising. It had merely played dead until Dooku had walked within striking range, and was preparing to close its sharp claws around his throat from behind.

"Republic…. Confederacy… foolish Jedi Council… freedoms…"

Perhaps her altruism chose that inconvenient moment to manifest itself. Perhaps the idealist had grown on her through his rants. Perhaps her Jedi notion of redemption somehow influenced her actions. But that moment, she knew she couldn't let this fiery orator, whether self-proclaimed savior or villain, be crushed from behind by an acklay. It would be worse than being killed by some arrogant Padawan on the orders of his own master. Just slightly worse.

So Sarin swiped her leg under and tripped the Count mid-speech. Surprise was such a convenient element. Dooku sprawled on top of Sarin and rolled off, which likely saved his life, his clothes, and cushioned his fall. Sarin groaned in protest to the elbow she received to her face, suddenly feeling very dizzy, and the acklay snapped its claws on air.

"I suggest you desist in assaulting me, m'lady," Dooku rose just enough to threaten Sarin, igniting his saber to hover at her throat, a curious contrast to his silky suggestion. That and he was significantly heavier than Sarin, which left her at somewhat a disadvantage pinned to the floor. Any trace of humor or amusement was gone from his eyes. Sarin swallowed, eyes wide, grey reflecting the red saber ghosting her neck.

Pushing down her terror, she choked out, "Behind you!" which may have sounded squeaky and unrecognizable, but Dooku got the message. Or perhaps he gained full awareness and sensed the impending blow with the Force. At the last moment, he rose and redirected his saber, cleanly cleaving the acklay in two. He switched off his red blade.

The look of surprise plastered on the Count's face would have been amusing under other circumstances. Clearly, he hadn't anticipated needing rescue, nor receiving it from Sarin. She didn't muse on the irony, because once again she found herself drifting into a heavy blackness, only this time she was already on the ground. Were the nexu spike-slashes poisonous? Perhaps she'd had too many elbows to the face. Maybe she was allergic to Geonosian dust. Or lightsaber radiation. It occurred to her as she lost consciousness that this planet was doing nothing for her health.


	4. Into the Fire

Note: Half a year, has it been? If anyone is reading, let me know and I'll update. If not, I'll wait until I've written more and update. No ultimatum there ;)

* * *

4. Into the Fire, aka Sarin's Fall

There was a soft buzzing all around her, the darkness performing dervishes under her eyelids

There was a soft buzzing all around her, the darkness performing dervishes under her eyelids. Sarin groaned. The light was far too bright, that sterile white luminescence she associated with medical centers and the smell of kolto. The ceiling floated into focus, some sort of titanium tile. Expensive. She was in a small room, lying on a bunk opposite a droid and a whole tank of kolto. The compact setup looked suspiciously like a ship's medical bay. The med-droid whirred, rolled over to her, withdrew a sinister-looking needle, and injected something into her arm. Sarin tried to flinch away, and found she couldn't.

Her wrists and ankles were bound down to the bunk by some sort of magnetic field emanating from the metal wire. A suspicious prickling at the back of her neck alerted her to a Force-suppressing collar. Trapped and helpless. She swore in the dirtiest Mandalorian she knew. Somewhat redundantly since she knew very little. The injection had cleared her head somewhat. Now that she was awake, she saw that the droid had cleaned her thoroughly of the blood and grit. Her head and side were bandaged tightly, and she was clad in loose grey pants and tunic. And thoroughly confused.

The door slid open. Sarin caught a glimpse of a metal corridor before Count Dooku strode into the Med Bay. He was sporting a new cloak, and carried his left arm gingerly close to his side.

"Kind of you to heal me up, Count. Do you plan on holding me hostage?" asked Sarin, as chirpily as she could.

"I see you are awake," said Dooku, striding to examine a screen monitoring some sort of fluctuating wavelength, his back to her. He turned and considered Sarin. "As much good as taking an insignificant Jedi hostage would undoubtedly bring me, I find myself in the uncomfortable position of having to return you the courtesy of saving my life."

"So why the collar?"

"Simply precautionary measures," Dooku said wryly. "I trust you will not grudge my caution."

"Wouldn't dream of it. So now you're going to drop me off at Coruscant before one of your big rallies? Maybe give a speech to the Senate while you're stopping by?"

"The Republic would not tolerate my presence anywhere near its institutions. They do not condone freedom of expression as the Confederacy does. A pity for you."

Dooku considered Sarin, frowned, then raised a hand and ran two fingers firmly along her jawbone. Sarin flinched, purple bruise smarting.

"More kolto, perhaps? I never did catch your name, m'lady."

"Jedi Knight Sarin Silvern, apprentice to Master Windu. Will you need the spelling for your ransom note?"

"Sarin," said Dooku, ignoring her quips, "I have a proposition for you."

"If this is the 'join me or die' part, can we try to compromise? I-all right!" Dooku had pressed his fingers cruelly into the discolored skin. The left side of Sarin's face was on fire.

"I am not unreasonable," he smiled. "From what I saw of your skill, I may be capable of improving your affinity with the Force. If you rally behind my cause, you may find in me a knowledgeable teacher. You believe in the Confederacy. You displayed your true loyalties on Geonosis. Consider carefully, m'lady."

"My Master is Mace Windu," Sarin retorted defiantly.

"An old friend. He is limited by his inability to see beyond the Council's arrogance. Have you never wished to weigh both sides of the spectrum, to balance your Force abilities? You will never achieve your full potential limited to one philosophy. You may choose to join me, as you yourself proposed, or you may remain a political detainee indefinitely here on my ship. We are two standard days from Null. I expect you to make your decision by then, m'lady. If you do not join me, I do hope you find that collar comfortable."

He walked back over to the console, tapped a switch. Sarin felt the collar tingling before the mild paralysis set in. He turned back to her and added, as an afterthought.

"Your Jedi friend stole one of my ships. He is currently nearing the gravitational field of Nar Shaddaa. I have a tracking device installed on that ship, and a rather efficient safeguard against thieves. Pity it renders the ship useless."

Sarin's muffled protests sounded about as articulate as a Gamorrean's grunts.

"Perhaps I could be persuaded to reconsider and make concessions, should you prove agreeable."

He arched an eyebrow. Sarin really needed to learn a more original trick.

The medical droid whirred beside her head. The hyperdrive hummed. They were streaking through space, light-years from Coruscant and the Council. Time passed in spurts as Sarin drowsed and debated, the droid injecting sedatives and kolto by turn.

The head of the Separatist movement had just offered Sarin the chance of a lifetime. The Council had not once debated letting her join. Dooku was offering her a right-hand position. Apprentice to the Head of State. The Confederacy had the potential to renew the stagnant Republic. Dooku's ideals seemed in check. Sarin hovered, uncertain, for hours. The droid informed her when one day had passed.

"Can you call your master?" Sarin asked the droid, "And how about some water, hmm?" she read off the computer, "M4-D2, is it."

Apparently the droid could transmit messages. Count Dooku didn't rush to her side, but he did stop by some time later.

"I hope you are faring well," he commented, "Once you make up your mind, I'm sure my droid will find it much easier to serve you."

Sarin swallowed several times before she could force her dry lips to form the words, all the while staring at Dooku's boots. "I'll humor you, _my lord_."

"Excellent. I thought you'd see reason. But there is no need for such formalities from my servants," his lip curved. "Master will do.

"M4, give our guest some water. You will excuse me, Sarin, if I leave you to the ministrations of my droid. We must look after your health, after all."

Between Dooku's smug dismissal and the restraints still imposed on her, Sarin felt very much like she had just sold her soul to the devil.

At least the water was cool.

Dooku lived up to his word eventually. An hour before their landing Sarin was released and escorted by the droid. The ship was as extravagant as she had first guessed. For one, it was carpeted. Beyond exotic for a transport. She caught a glimpse of a large study rimmed with shelves of datapads and numerous computers, a portable library of galactic lore. The cargo hold was stocked excessively, and there was even a set of escape pods. Sarin didn't doubt that the ship's shields and weaponry were optimized to be the best credits could buy.

M4 led her past these rooms onto the bridge. It was compact, as the rest of the ship, but luxurious. Dooku was silhouetted against the immense window which sprawled the circular room, offering them a view of the stars and planets they were passing. The droid sidled off on its wheels, and Sarin approached Dooku.

"We will soon dock at my private retreat on Null," he informed her. "I shall then dedicate some effort to instruct you in the Confederacy's aims and methods."

"You'll teach me the way of the Ysalamiri?"

Dooku glanced at Sarin. "Such eager ambition. You shall address me as Darth Tyranus or Master. As for the second Form, I shall see how well you progress in your other learning among my acolytes. The skills of verbal persuasion are oft more critical for a politician. Conversion is much more effective, and ethical, than slaughter, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Master," said Sarin ironically.

They stood in silence as Null grew out of the darkness before them. The mountains and forests became more pronounced when they entered the atmosphere through billowy lime-white clouds. They descended smoothly beside a towering castle, its grey spires blending into the foliage. It was a cool, green-tinted night when they landed in a dock hidden from view behind a cliff face, through a shield disguising itself as a waterfall.

A crowd of dark-robed acolytes and natives, the humanoid Nulls, all bowed low before Dooku and Sarin who strode off the ramp a step behind him. Sarin felt a strange thrill at their subservience. Dooku looked pleased. He gave her a once-over and beckoned to the most important-looking acolyte, whispering orders. Then he addressed the vast chamber. Standing on the ramp above the crowd of followers, Sarin felt the charisma radiating off Count Dooku. She wondered bleakly as he announced Geonosian progress, thwarting Jedi spy plots, and his newly converted Jedi. Most of the Separatists bowed to her, but she noted a few dark glances from greener acolytes.

After addressing the room, Dooku walked through into the castle. The crowd parted before him. Sarin followed.

The architecture hadn't seemed like much from space, but the detail was exquisite. The spires were woven of ornate masonry, silvered rococo reliefs of strange creatures and scenes. A gargoyle perched on the roof, then twitched. Ugly. Sarin wondered if it was a native creature. A wide stair led them into the rich interior, dimly lit marble floors and a ceiling that stretched to the tip of the spire, where hung a luminescent ball of light. Balconies spiraled up along the walls, offering glimpses of at least a dozen separate floors, looking down on the hall, overarching, balustrade-railed, imposing. Sarin made to follow Dooku, but the robed figure with whom Dooku had spoken intercepted her.

"Darth Tyranus requests we accommodate you." The creature's voice was hoarse. Sarin caught a glimpse of a masked face and a yellow eye beneath the cowl.

"Accommodate me?"

"Show you your quarters and instruct you in behavior befitting your status."

Sarin definitely heard a sneer in there, mixed with the gravel and spite.

"Delightful. Lead on."

Actually, she was surprised they hadn't tested her somehow. The Council had always gone on about the ruthless tests and vigorous training of the Sith. She doubted saving their leader would spare her their wrath for long. He probably considered his debt repaid by bringing her here, to this Sith-infested planet on the edge of space.

Her guide had led her up numerous staircases and into a vast training hall. The marble floor was laid out as an arena here, workbenches lining the walls. A dozen or so acolytes were sitting and tweaking fusioncutters and what looked like proto-sabers. She was led further, and through a door to what was a warped image of her own room in the Jedi temple. Except there was more space. A fresher door beyond a workbench. A bare bunk.

"You shall commence training tomorrow. You will ascend only by your own merit. You will rise at the third moonrise, dress, and report to the training hall." The creature gestured emphatically toward the wardrobe, voice laden with gritty disdain.

"Third moonrise?"

"The yellow one," the acolyte smiled, displaying some sharp teeth. When the creature left, Sarin approached the wardrobe to find several pairs of black acolyte robes and hoods. She walked over to the window. The night glistened green in dim lime-grey mist which had encompassed the planet, jungle covering a mounting, rocky landscape split by gushing rivers and stretching to a range of mountains and out of sight. She grimaced. All three moons hung low in the sky, each a shade of yellow.


	5. Smuggler's Moon

5. Smuggler's Moon

The ship Sage had commandeered was the smoothest ride he'd ever had. The hyperdrive boosted him halfway to the Corellian sector before he managed to deactivate the autopilot and switch course for Nar Shaddaa. The droid had proved willing to cooperate with a hydrospanner to its memory core. The tracking bug was harder to remove. Sage left fiddling with the controls and propped his legs up in the cockpit. He twirled his lightsaber absently in his hand.

Several frown lines creased his face. He ran a hand through his long hair, and his fingers came away flaked with congealed blood. Sage winced. He did not like to abandon his allies lightly, despite past experience. And he had left Sarin in a very compromising position, between a known enemy and several toothy monsters. He owed it to her to at least relate Eorlax's message and her situation to the Council. Problem was, his interest lay in staying far away from the Council. An anonymous message could serve him well, he mused. It would be impossible to track a specific signal from Nar Shaddaa.

He settled back to sleep in the plush pilot's chair. Luxury was nice. He should have pilfered rich Separatists earlier.

It took two days, during which he snoozed, took inventory, and caught up on his snoozing. Visiting the 'fresher occasionally. The droid beeped and complained that he snored. He complained of bleeping trash compactors. Nar Shaddaa loomed into sight, and soon the planet-spanning mega-polis materialized. Sage navigated easily through the atmosphere, heedless of departing ships, and wove an intricate course under bridges and through tunnels, landing just nigh the Refugee Sector. The decaying duracrete creaked as he settled the ship on the abandoned landing pad. It was cracked, but held out. Go figure.

Sage had the droid voice lock the ship and collected a modest sum of credits from the safe in the cargo hold before heading out. Knowing Nar Shaddaa, he let his scruffy look work in his favor of deterring potential thieves. His saber hilt was tucked safely in an inside pocket. He generously sprained the wrist of the first local he caught in his pocket. Nar Shaddaa was like the back of his hand. Things could get dirty and hairy, but they were intimately familiar.

He traversed his preferential route to the dingy cantina that had changed so little and settled across a window in a shadowed corner to nurse a double juma juice. The Twi'lek dancers curled their lekku. The stench of caffa permeated the room, smoky and full of chattering natives dabbling in the unsavory business of offplanet smuggling. Sage relaxed. Marginally. His green eyes found the flashing neon screen advertising death sticks.

Suddenly the screen flashed red and blue. The inhabitants of the bar all crowded in for the special report, and Sage leaned casually around a shapely dancer to watch. Ah. Separatist propaganda.

He averted his gaze quaffed his juma in one go. The taste helped dull the frustration that had flared up. The smugglers all ate it right up. Free trade. They couldn't imagine the repercussions galactic capitalism would entail. Sage cringed at the thought. He hated politics.

It took him a few drinks, but eventually he gathered the willpower to head back out into the world. He set out to re-establish some old contacts.

The abandoned apartments reeked. His old hideout was on this floor, as well as the haunt of an old friend. Sage found Roark Garnet lying under two Twi'lek dancers, completely pissed. He grumbled about pilots gone to waste as he dragged the smuggler over a few rooms and busted into some cleaner living quarters – Sage's old rooms. Luckily the room was deserted, and much better kept than the rest of the building thanks to saber-twisted metal lock. There were two bunks and the broken glass had been thoughtfully swept up into a corner. Sage heaved his drunk associate onto a bunk. Roark could snore like a Hutt.

His old stores were untouched. Sage welded the door shut with his saber, then scavenged his things for soap and headed for the fresher.

Feeling much more hospitable after his steamy shower, Sage dug up an extra pair of his old, reinforced armor and took inventory. Soon Roark stirred, and Sage handed him the dregs of his juma juice. Gulping down the alcohol, Roark regained some color.

"Argh, my head…" he moaned.

"Should have had better sense than to overindulge and end up under a pile of wasted dancers."

"By the Force! Tor'vel, is that really you?"

"No, it's the voice of your conscience. In the flesh."

"Oh, you should've seen the last few months, Torve, spice is soaring! They're paying quadruple what they used to, and I got somethin' nice off a smuggler from Ilum for you…"

"Garnet, I just landed, you're wasted, and I need to transmit a message to Coruscant."

Rourk Garnet looked up from where he'd be riffling through his pockets, winced in the light. "I though you were staying away from that place, Torve. Thought you weren't going back to them Jedi."

"I'm not going to declare myself Master Tor'vel Sageril again, no," said Sage impatiently, "but I need to inform them. Call it a debt. A Jedi helped me get out of a tight spot back on Geonosis, and I'd like to return the favor, considering I left her to the mercy of the Head of the Confederacy."

Rourk's eyes widened. "You gotta tell me about that."

Sage smiled thinly and related the events of the past days to Rourk. At the end of it, Rourk was gaping.

"Man…" he whistled. "She's screwed. And so are you. Didn't it occur to you that a ship like the one you stole would have, oh, I dunno, a _tracking device_?"

"It occurred to me, once or twice. Perhaps you'd like to remove it?"

"Not until I get some sleep I don't. And don't you look so damn smug about it. You wait 'til you're this hungover."

Sage arched an eyebrow but conceded, "A few hours it is." It was surprisingly easy for Rourk to drift back to sleep, but Sage lay awake for some time and slept fitfully. It was early morning when he roused Rourk.

Looking resigned now, Rourk didn't protest. "Alright, Torve, I'll rescue you. Two gizkas, one rock. You need to contact those Jedi now? You need that device disabled? Let's and over to your ship. But breakfast first."

"Excellent. Knew you'd come through for me."

Sage melted the door open again, grabbed some gear, and led a groaning Rourk through the apartments.

"I expect compensation."

"Let me buy you a drink on the way, Garnet."

"You're not so bad a guy, you know." The cantina was serving juma juice despite the early hour, along with the greenish omelets. They were sitting by a window, watching speeders race by, their reflectors glinting in the bright sunlight. "Here, I got it on me," Rourk, mouth full, had dug out a small, rag-wrapped bundle from his pockets. "Kept it for you for months, but you never showed. I thought you'd abandoned me, so don't blame me for wanting to sell 'em. They're worth a fortune. But you're here, so take 'em. Had a hell of a time figuring out what they were – some smuggler from Ilum handed 'em along with the credits for a couple bags o' Ryll."

Sage took the bundle cautiously. "Ryll trade? You've gotten ambitious, Garnet."

"I'm making it big, Torve, just like we always wanted. I'm going to get myself a ship soon."

"Captain Rourk Garnet. No, just can't see it."

"Spoilsport. Open them. They'd have been handy on Geonosis, eh? I'm not totally ignorant; I know you Jedi value those things. Else you'd have chucked your saber. But even you aren't that stubborn."

"No, I suppose not," Sage distractedly, waving over the droid waitress. "More caffa, please, and our check."

"Are you going to drown yourself in caffa or look at what I got you?"

Sage grinned doggedly but unwrapped the rags. His grin slid off his face, replaced by awe.

"Ah, told you, told you. What d'you think now of my connections, eh?"

Three mutli-faceted crystals were glowing dimly in Sage's hands. One shone a faint, frosty blue, another a deep green, and the third was veined with glittering teal. The rag was cold to the touch. Sage re-wrapped them hastily and stowed them in an inner pocket.

"You realize what these are?"

"Only the best for you, Torve. Took a hell of a long time finding out what they were – no one wanted to tell me, but the price offers I got were high. Planet Ilum specializes in Adegan lightsaber crystals, y'know? The green's a Mephite, and the teal is some sort of mix of two Ilum types, from what I figure…"

"How did you get the blue?"

"The blue's a Pontite, rare as they come," said Rourk proudly. "I nicked it off the guy, actually, just as he was leaving."

Sage snorted into his caffa. "Well done, Garnet. You surprise me."

"Yeah, well, I figured your lightsaber has saved my neck enough times for me to treat you to a present. Now pay up and let's get."

Sage paid the droid handsomely and the two left. Rourk gloated the whole way.

"Parked by the Refugee sector, did you?"

"Old habits die hard."

"Hold on, I want to talk to someone…" Rourk walked over to a kiosk, situated between two droid shops. Sage stood back as Rourk haggled with the shopkeeper.

"Fifty's my final offer," barked Rourk.

"Seventy-five or no deal," insisted the shopkeeper.

"Sixty."

"I'm selling myself short…"

"Forget this joint, Sage, let's get-"

"Alright, sixty five."

"Deal!"

Rourk showed Sage a cluster of multi-colored wires. "This'll jumble up those Jedi. Your ship's gonna have first-rate transponder scramblers. Know what that means, buddy? Means no one'll ever track ya again, and no one'll ever block ya again. Cause this'll eliminate all your problems."

"Can your wires make the Sith go away, too?"

"Smartass. This your ship?"

"Next one."

"Damn… that's nice. I'd a baby like that I wouldn't ever leave hyperspace."

"Hmm."

"You're smug now, but you'll see."

"Enough, kid. You said you'd help me, remember? Trash compactor, do you read?" the last was addressed to the ship. The droid responded by lowering the ramp, haltingly.

"Welcome aboard. After you," Sage smirked at Rourk's awe. They climbed into the ship. The R2-D4 bleated at them. Sage kicked the droid. Rourk didn't admonish him as he would normally have. He was busy gaping at the lush carpet, the tiled ceiling, the double-paned windows, and all those luxurious technicalities Sage had overlooked.

"We can admire the cargo hold all day, but I think you need the cockpit."

"Did you steal this from the Head of State? 'cause this is top-of-the-line stuff, Torve. You seen the auto turrets you've got?"

"I promise I'll let you examine to your heart's content. Just install you little wires first."

As soon as they reached the cockpit, Rourk found more cause for fawning. "Aw… look at those accelerators… baby…"

Sage sat back and made himself comfortable in the pilot's chair. Rourk set to work, grabbing a hydrospanner and cracking open a dashboard panel.

Fifteen minutes later, he was still hard at work. "How long this going to take you?"

Rourk waved him off without glancing up. Sage stretched and went back over to the cargo hold, where he found a dual set of tools and decided to reexamine his new crystals in context with his saberstaff.

The Pontite crystal was stubborn. Sage had frozen his fingers off trying to fit the thing perfectly, and it kept jumping out of his saberstaff. The blasted rock was too narrow! Sage considered the glowing blue crystal. Then he stuffed it into the toolbox and tried his luck with the others. The green Mephite fit perfectly. Sage wasted some time adjusting it vainly to strike the lens more brightly, then decided to add the teal Adegan hybrid for the set, and tightened his hilt. The tarnished metal could use polishing. He ignited the saber.

It sparked brightly, narrowly missing his leg but charring the workbench, and the beam of light was much more intense. The saturated green blade hummed loudly. Sage flicked it off to give his eyes a rest.

"Ey, Torve! All finished!"

Rourk was grimy and his hair stood on end as though he'd been given several healthy doses of electro-therapy. The dashboard panel was back in place, though slightly lopsided. Rourk grinned.

"Alright Garnet, let's see…"

It took two tries, but the transmitter hummed to life and, being of expensive make, had no trouble reaching as far as Coruscant.

"You're sure it'll be anonymous?"

"Positive. It distorts your holo image and your voice, so you could be a Wookie for all they know. It also won't allow them to track ya down, courtesy of Rourk Garnet tech specialists."

"Alright, then scat. Go play with my workbench, examine the turrets. Perhaps you'll upgrade my weaponry? Or at least give that droid a memory wipe. It's rotten to its memory core."

Rourk scampered off happily.

Sage tisked until he could delay no more, then dug out Eorlax's holo and inserted it into a slot. The Jedi Council at the temple on Coruscant. He heard a stern voice enquire to his identity. Instead of replying, he transmitted the holo.

The Jedi reacted. Sage could hear indiscernible chatter on the other side. He said, "I need to speak to Master Windu, about his apprentice," and his voice echoed back deeper, unrecognizable.

It took some time, but eventually Sage got his wish. He frowned at the screen.

"This is Mace Windu. You have information for me?"

How Sage loathed that disciplined, aloof manner he had emulated for years. "Knight Sarin was taken captive on Geonosis by Separatist forces. The very top of the pyramid, in fact. If she is still alive, the Head of the Confederacy will likely interrogate her and offer some political exchange."

"Who is this? Where is Sarin now?"

"No idea. But I consider my debt repaid."

Windu opened his mouth, but Sage terminated the signal. The image fizzed out. Sage sighed. He didn't feel relieved as he'd hoped. A crash from the cargo hold brought him out of his despondent musings.

Rourk climbed out of the trap door he'd fallen into. "You've got a cellar full of Glitteryll, did you know?" he asked. He seemed dazed. If what he said was true then Sage was carrying around the most expensive, addictive, and illegal drug in the galaxy by the cellar-full. Complications, complications.

"Alright, druggie, thank you for your help. I'll compensate you with a crate of that stuff if I can have your word you won't touch it yourself."

"Tarve, that stuff…"

"Could probably buy you a new ship, I know. Consider it your compensation."

"We'll need to disperse it carefully, such a large influx will cause inflation, we don't want it to fall in value…" Rourk's enterprising smuggler's brain was at it. Sage cast a glance through the trap door. There were crates of the stuff. Disgusting. But a windfall, nevertheless.

"You think this is how the Separatists recruit?" asked Sage darkly.

"We'll sell one crate to this system, send another to the Sigil system…" Rourk was distracted. Sage let it go.

"Alright kid. You helped me out. I'm with you. Traveling seems the thing to do when we've got ourselves a ship like this. What do you say? We partner up once more, get rid of this stuff in the more efficient manner. Loath as I am to traffic spice…"

Rourk practically glowed. "Like old times! And when we get most of it, you can drop me off at Ilum. I'm gonna make it big on those crystals, I swear."

"We could take revenge on those Geonosians with this stuff," mused Sage. "Spice brings misery wherever it goes, especially Glitteryll. We'll sell them a crate, then maybe strike an Iridonian world and those Separatists. Spice for the Republic! Uniting for democracy." He scoffed.

"And while we're at it, we can trade this stuff for medical supplies and ferry that to appease you conscience," suggested Rourk.

"How considerate. So now we've preparations to make."

"Let's head to Geonosis first," opined Rourk, "I'm curious to know what became of your Jedi friend."

"I'm sick of that world," said Sage. "But perhaps revenge shall be sweet."

"Spicy, you mean!" Garnet grinned widely, eyes sparkling.

* * *

A/N: Thank you, queenieb, I'm very responsive to feedback as you can tell :) I hope you enjoy.

The ride only gets darker from here...


	6. Melting Dread

_A/N: I apologize for the delay... I shall begin updating regularly next week after graduation (there are currently 13.5 chapters) and hopefully begin to write again soon. I'm afraid Star Trek captured my attention (Spock 3) but I shan't abandon Star Wars. Also, when I say I dislike comments, I mean I dislike rambling authors (such as what I'm doing now). I absolutely DO like reviews, very very much, and they inspire me to write, usually. I hope not to subject you to long A/N's unnecessarily in the future. _

_Watch out, perturbing action ahead..._

* * *

6. Melting Dread

It was raining on Null. It was _always_ raining on Null. To some degree. The drizzle had dissipated, then returned, and was now pounding steadily, saturating Sarin's black robes. Her hood was plastered to her hair which was dripping into her eyes. She felt like a wet Wookie. In the midst of the jungle.

The prickling rain continued, but a lime-colored cloud was headed her way. It was the sinister hue of the storms of basic rain Null hosted that season. Four months on Null had impressed upon her the dangers of such a storm. Sarin ducked under a ridge, back into the tunnel leading from the castle. It was the long way or the weather. Sagging black robes dragged and dripped. Something was off.

Instinctively, Sarin twisted and bashed the kinrath stalking her. Her red saber pierced flesh. It was a matriarch, its swollen belly betraying its poisonous status. Its eight legs twitched. Sarin narrowed her eyes and adopted an offensive Djem So stance. The form had taken months and numerous saber-burns to learn. She hadn't fully mastered it. The giant spiders swarmed.

By the time she had finished the whole tribe, kinrath corpses were strewn everywhere, and she was significantly warmer, sweat and kinrath blood now mingling with the rainwater. She bashed in their eggs, then headed up through the complex of catacombs spanning the cliffy planet. The air turned cooler and her wet robes began to crust with ice. The training hall on the entrance to the castle was nearly empty. The acolytes had bowed and scarpered at her appearance.

"What makes you think you can bleed all over the floor, Jedi?"

Scathing personified. Sarin turned to face the one who'd not fled her presence. It was the dark acolyte who'd greeted her when she'd first arrived on Null four standard months ago, back from some secret mission, cocky and hoarse-voiced as ever.

"What makes you think you're immune?" Sarin sneered through an exaggerated wince of pain.

She was trailing mud and kinrath blood, but the fool didn't know she was uninjured. Her chance to supplant this acolyte and head the academy had come. Other acolytes called him Lieutenant Dread, and whispered rumors of his exploits on distant planets. He was supposedly the son of some high ranking official, Lieutenant to General Sev'rance Tann for the CIS.

"Back from Saleucami, I see? What, was no one interested in negotiating with a bald Wookie? Darth Tyranus shan't be pleased by another failed mission, Lieutenant."

She was skirting dangerous territory. Yellow eyes narrowed beneath his hood.

"My mission is not your concern. But you've far outstayed your welcome here, Jedi. Null can be lethal to a weak, corrupted thing like you, caught out in a storm of basic rain. It would be such a shame to have you bleed to death," he snarled, advancing, "But there'll be little of your corpse left once the rain strips your cells of their membranes."

They were circling each other now, wary as two predators.

"Oh no, not the rain! My poor cellular membranes… Oh, wait, I'm already wet. Then again, I don't envy your corpse once you've reported your botched mission."

"That was the last time you insult me," the acolyte growled.

"I agree," said Sarin, and lunged forward, feinting left and lashing out right. Her first connected solidly with the acolyte's black mask and shattered it, sending him stumbling back. Shards of obsidian had embedded themselves into her knuckles and his grey skin. She let the Dark Side course through her, marveling at the power, and jerked her hand to send Dread flying into the wall, leaving a very satisfying imprint when he slid to the floor.

"Not so cocky now, are ya?" This was easy… she delivered a swift kick to his side and he groaned and rolled backward, unconscious.

Sarin leaned forward, morbidly curious.

Big mistake.

By the time she realized his weakness was feigned, he had knocked her off her feet. Springing up, expecting the glow of a lightsaber, Sarin was caught completely off guard when he landed a brutal uppercut and followed up, inhumanely fast, knocking her down with three bruising punches to her stomach. Sarin rolled painfully to a jarring stop when her head collided with the wall, clutching her ribcage. Then was jolted back to reality with a vicious volley of kicks. It felt rather like being nailed to the metal wall by a very heavy hammer.

"Still begriming the floor?" enquired Dread, boot crushing into Sarin's back. She groaned, muscles seizing and going limp.

"Look your superiors in the eye, Jedi," the acolyte knelt beside Sarin and yanked her up halfway by the hair, drawing his talons sharply across her face and drinking in her pained flinch at the bloody welts. "Don't fret, Jedi, I intend to watch your corpse dissolve in the rain," he hissed. His leering face began to swim in her vision, glowing yellow eyes.

It was lucky he was so rough in handling her, because Sarin regained consciousness as she was being bumped against the jagged tunnel walls, flung carelessly over the acolyte's shoulder, the end of the caves in sight. She could hear the hissing rain as it descended over the jungle which had long ago adapted to the extreme storms, the leaves protected by a filmy, acidic coating. Sarin wriggled. The acolyte stopped and attempted to bash her head into the wall, but Sarin dodged his grasp and kicked out desperately. With brilliant aim. The acolyte tumbled toward the end of the tunnel, doubled over.

"Time to go dancin' in the rain, Dread," Sarin advanced slowly, voice soft, igniting her lightsaber to bathe the tunnels in a crimson glow. She ignored her swimming vision. The acolyte dodged last moment and met her blade with his own fiery saber. Red clashed on red, as both struggled to force the other on the defensive. Dread's shattered mask had imbedded black spikes in grey skin. Sarin's bloodied face was twisted in wrath. The caves flashed and the sabers hummed.

"So Lieutenant, what degenerate species are you?" His Djem So was strong, and Sarin reverted to her favored Makashi for its speed. Feint, dodge, swipe.

"Never encountered the Weequay before, Jedi?" Block, jump, sideswipe.

"Oh, those wrinkled prunes from Hutt space? I see now," their sabers locked. Sarin glared in concentration, sweat beading her forehead, and a boulder flew at the acolyte. He sprung back and splayed out his clawed hand to divert the rockslide.

"I am Dread Bulq, son of Sora Bulq the Head of the Morgukai Shadow army."

"You're the son of that Jedi traitor, most feared of the Dark Acolytes?" wondered Sarin. "Don't make me laugh."

And she jabbed forward, finally forcing Dread Bulq on the defensive. "He likely doesn't know you exist, else he'd kill you. Is that why you leave on your secret missions when Bulq and Sev'rance Tann come here? Hiding from daddy dearest?" Each sentence was punctuated by a vicious swipe, Sarin never letting up on the acolyte. He backed away, propelling boulders and debris at Sarin, who diverted them with the Force.

"No one will know what happened to poor Dread, who left one day and got caught in some weather. I'll be sure to tell your daddy of your heroic demise by a few raindrops." His saber landed centimeters from her arm before hers descended to rid him of both saber and wrist.

Dread took another step back, felt the rain on his robes, jumped as though electrocuted, and snarled. "This isn't over, Jedi!"

But Sarin's lips twisted darkly. "Let's see how soluble Weequays are in basic solution. Lieutenant Melting Dread, anyone?"

She raised up a hand, eyes taking on a sickly yellow-grey tint. It was exhilarating, intoxicating, this newfound power. Her palm sparked and crackled with obsidian and purple energy as she surrendered control to the Dark Side. Her smile curved. Dread's eyes widened.

- - - - - - -

The next day the Lieutenant rose to greet the arriving Trenox, another dark acolyte and Separatist commander due to inform the Lieutenant of strategy. The Lieutenant welcomed him with a bow, yellow-tinged eyes sharp beneath the black cowl.

"We shall need you back at Headquarters on Mustafar," Trenox said without hesitation when the two were situated in a private chamber, sipping the best juma Null had imported a decade earlier. Not very impressive. Trenox's bald head glittered from the rain. He took another drag of his death stick, puffed up a cloud of blue smoke.

"There has been a slight shuffling of positions here," said the Lieutenant softly, "But stability has been restored. How goes the effort on Mustafar?"

"All is proceeding as planned, Lieutenant. Darth Tyranus has called a council there before he leaves to consult the Trade Federation on Geonosis. Someone must be deployed to check on Fett's progress on Kamino, I believe. There is talk of a mysterious mission to the Yavin Sector in search of some Dark weapon to help us decimate the Republic, but the rumors are unconfirmed. Only high Lieutenants and the Generals are being called on. I'd advise you leave now, Lieutenant."

"Very well," said the Lieutenant after a moment's reflection. "You may remain here as long as you do not hinder your assignment. I shall depart immediately. Your promptness has been commendable."

The Lieutenant turned to exit and paused before the large screen on the wall of the chamber, which had begun to blink brightly with a red alert. Trenox turned his watery gaze upward as well.

"Santarine's economic situation is deteriorating rapidly, and the Republic is doing little to preserve the planet's loyalty, while the CIS continues enticing offers of aid," a reporter was saying, wriggling his antennae emphatically. "Senator Llewellyn of Santarine, the youngest member of the Senate in its history, radical reformer and political activist for alien rights, has provided staggering statistics…"

The Lieutenant tuned out the voice and glanced at the image of Senator Llewellyn, the infamous politician. Llewellyn gazed frostily back through dark blue, white-lashed eyes that held a hint of ruthless determination the young Senator was known for. Her hair was several shades tanner than snow, thin, and brushed her shoulders, but it was the set of her frown and eyebrows that marked a powerful presence. Llewellyn was as slim and pale as an Echani and the near-white hair added to the likeness, but her steely blue eyes distinguished her as very much human. There was something compelling about the Senator, and the Lieutenant dragged yellow eyes away forcefully.

Trenox was left downing another juma and getting started on the third bottle. The Lieutenant arched an eyebrow and, once out of earshot, let out a scathing laugh, eyes reverting back to their natural grey.

"Your final test," the Lieutenant had addressed the acolytes prior, "will be to kill the imposter playing ambassador to us. If he shall leave the castle, it will be over your corpses. The one who kills him shall ascend in rank upon my return."

The Sith were ambitious enough for such bait to not question the Lieutenant. The enemy was beginning to crumble from within. And the Lieutenant was not constrained by any one side of the Force.


End file.
